Shore Leave
by mrthingyx
Summary: The crew of Shephard's first SpecOps posting - SSV Bruges - have a two-day leave pass at their latest stop-over. This is a take on Shepard's backstory...


Shore leave. 1st Lieutenant John Shepard had always associated the words with short, fun holidays with his parents, who had both served out numerous Naval postings in the borderlands of the Traverse – his mother, a Commander in the marine contingents shipside, his father Engineering Chief. So in the absence of his parents, his fellow marines were more than up to the task of putting their particular brand of 'fun' in the two days they had planet-side. In the six months since joining the crew of the SpecOps frigate, _SSV Bruges_, he'd broken up three bar fights (one with an intoxicated krogan), been mugged on four occasions (he hadn't had to hand his credit chip over once), and been arrested whilst covered in blue paint and wearing an asari ball gown (released without charge on the grounds of 'mistaken identity').

"Decompression" in the traditional marine sense wasn't something he was particularly interested in, or even enjoyed particularly much, but what else was there to do in two days without another immediate social group? Perhaps it was because his parents had always done their best to set an example of how Alliance Naval officers should behave; perhaps it was his unusual (for a human) training as a biotic that coloured the lens through which he viewed the galaxy and his own influence within it. Or perhaps it was the fact that he was a terrible lightweight and "couldn't out-drink a juvenile salarian."

Sitting outside a cafe just off the main thoroughfare, Shepard was glad he was such a lightweight. A number of the other officers had gone large at the Officers' Mess the previous night prior to shipping out this afternoon, and it had spilled out into the main party district. Shepard had stayed for a while, up until the conversation had degraded into slurs and shouts, and then packed it in for the evening. As he sat drinking his coffee, he was glad he'd listened to his CO: mornings on the human colony of Elysium were pretty special. Due to a mixture of cooled noble gases in the higher upper atmosphere of the planet, and the stronger-than-usual magnetic field of the planet, the period around dawn was – for a visitor – quite a lightshow. It had been compared to Earth's aurora of the northern and southern hemispheres, but occurred every morning without fail. Which was probably why the locals weren't paying any attention.

Behind dark glasses, Shepard watched the undulating spectral display above him, wishing he had – and even knew how to use – a vid-recorder. Whilst he'd seen holos and recordings of them, seeing the displays in person was completely different. Yes, he was glad he'd managed 4 hours sleep last night. Even if it meant his implant jack would be sore before lunch, even without levitating his coffee cup to try and impress the pretty, young, asari barista. It wasn't something he'd normally have done, but he was relaxed, probably not thinking too carefully through the itchy haze of sleep deprivation (impress an asari with biotics?). And she was hot. Not that anything would ever come of it, but it was nice not to be treated like an unstable bomb for a change.

_Unstable_. The tag every human biotic was lumped with, even though the L2 disaster had occurred a couple of years before he'd enlisted. _Dangerous_. Because of humanity's desperation to fit in with the galactic community and field their own biotics. _Unpredictable_. Because the brass had been so blinded by the end result that the cost to the human children and their families had been ignored. Shepard had grown up eager to join Biotic Acclimation and Temperance Training, but his parents had been unwilling, both dubious of a joint venture between the Alliance Military and an unknown corporation. As such, his parents spent a good portion of their down time planning his training: as the parents of a biotic child, they had been notified in advance of stop-overs. This meant that they had done their utmost to arrange for their only child to get the best they could afford at each port and station, even if it was for only a few days. And that normally meant asari. Owing to the frequency of port stop-overs, John never had a huge amount of time with each tutor, but the Asari method of teaching was very different – if he were to believe the rumours – to the 'standard' human regimes: he knew he would never be the strongest biotic, but each asari tutor had taken exceptional care to explain the importance of control over both his biotics and his actions. The self discipline had been reinforced every time he'd come back aboard from his "private sessions with the asari" his cohort seemed obsessed about.

He sat back in his chair and took another sip of his coffee, enjoying the burn in his throat. Yes, it was nice to be able to sit back and have a cup of the black stuff that did not taste like it had been scraped off a turbine for a change.

As he watched the gently pulsing aurora above him, he noticed a bright speck in his peripheral vision, close to the horizon and moving slowly: ship coming in to dock. His brain was about to forget it, grumbling at having to process anything, when it jarred – the planetary spaceport was quite a way south-east, behind him. Dredging up long-archived memories from astrophysics (or was it Celestial Navigation?), the flight path of the ship seemed all wrong... _Pffft. So what? It's not as if I'm a pilot (I wouldn't be here if I was) – the guy must know what he's doing..._

"More coffee, sir?" Shepard jumped, surprised as much by his zoning out as by the asari standing over his table. So lost was he in his reverie that he had not noticed the pretty asari approach his table.

"Uh...? Uh... yeah – sure." _Smooth – really smooth_, he berated himself, managing what he was convinced was a stupid grin at the barista. She smiled back, flashing brilliant white teeth, as she picked up his empty cup and turned, body gently swaying as she wound her way around the tables back to the bar. Perching his sunglasses on his head, he drove the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying desperately to rub some of the _stupid_ out. He was dimly aware of the sound of pressurised steam erupting from somewhere behind him, when his omnitool beeped softly. Ceasing his self-flagellation, he frowned at it: on silent mode, it was only meant to beep should shipside broadcasts be received. Glancing around, he keyed the holo-tab that had appeared above his wrist. And stared.

EMERGENCY BROADCAST: ALL HANDS. _CODE RED_.

THIS IS NOT AN EXERCISE.

UNIDENTIFIED FLIGHT SIGNATURES APPROACHING FROM DARKSIDE – ASSUMED HOSTILE. RETURN TO _SSV BRUGES_ IMMEDIATELY.

MESSAGE WILL AUTO-SYNC OMNITOOL CLOCKS, AND ACTIVATE LOCATION PINGS FOR PERSONNEL. ACKNOWLEDGE."

Shepard felt his blood run cold as he stared at the first three words of the message body: "unidentified flight signatures."

Slavers.

Having spent the past eight months on rotation to the _SSV Bruges_ as part of the SpecOps intervention programme, he'd seen enough to know that when slavers landed planet-side, entire settlements could disappear.

This time, he heard the click of the asari's heels as she approached. "Your coffee, sir."

He glanced up, eyes picking out every little detail on her face. "I'm sorry, miss...?"

The young asari flashed him a coy smile. "Alayuna. Alayuna Kay-Taran. You're Alliance Military, aren't you?"

John tried not to smile back as he got to his feet. "Yes, Miss Kay-Taran. Lieutenant John Shepard, 501st Marine Corps." _This is going to be difficult_. "Listen – do you have a raid shelter? You know, like a local bunker or something?"

Watching her, John was sure he saw something change behind those beautiful eyes. "A raid shelter? B-b-but–"

"Unidentified guests coming in, and they aren't using the front door." Her eyes remained locked on his, unblinking. Fear.

"Raiders?"

Shepard forced out his calmest, slowest voice. "Yes, Miss Kay-Taran. Find everybody you can and get them to the nearest shelter – I don't know how long this is going to last, but you need to get out of here." Breaking their eye contact, he rifled through his pockets and found his credit chip, keying the transfer. "This should square us, and..." he took a deep breath and found her still staring at him. "I... I should get going."

With that, he turned and exhaled. _Smooth. Really smooth. _He was about to begin walking when something grabbed his hand: it was the asari, and she'd stepped close. "Thank you, Lieutenant John Shepard." She breathed. Leaning in her other hand snaked up behind his head and pulled him closer. He saw her chin rise to meet him, and felt her lips gently caress his own. For an instant, John was lost in the scent of her skin, the taste of her mouth on his, and the shock of adrenaline. Lifting his free hand, he brushed his fingers lightly over the highly sensitive region at the base of the asari neck, and felt her inhale sharply. He was about to fall into the increased urgency of her kiss when he gently pushed himself away.

As her fingers reluctantly moved back along the lines of his face, John watched as her gaze travelled down his body, and then returned, a single tear slowly making its way down her cheek. "I'm scared, Lieutenant. But I... I will help these people."

Letting out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, John squeezed the asari's hand. "I should go." With one last look into her eyes, he turned and began to run.


End file.
